Nothing Good
by thelast.thingido
Summary: I remember the scarred lip smirking at me and reminding me that there was nothing—nothing—good or pure about me.


Rated M for adult themes

A/N: This story is a Snow White/Evil Queen pairing, and it's dark. Be prepared for that.

* * *

~I remember the scarred lip smirking at me and reminding me that there was nothing—_nothing—_good or pure about me.~

* * *

I remember thinking that she was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Even my mother, whose beauty was undeniable, it was one out of nurturing. It was maternal. It was innocence and good.

Regina was fire and blood and so different than anything I had ever been allowed to be exposed to. She was the kind of beauty that makes your head swim and your intentions irrational. Every sight was landed on her when she walked into a court yard or ball room. Darkness. I had never seen darkness before, and at first, I never wanted to see anything else.

I would be memorized by the sight of her changing clothes for different events, so honored that she would let me watch. I was barely a woman, and she was everything I wanted to be. It wasn't proper for me to share the view of her undressing in front of mirrors, it wasn't what good people do, but with a wink from her, indicating the promise of secrets kept, I felt a burning in my gut that couldn't tear me away.

* * *

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, and David's warmth is on me and surrounding me, I miss the ignorance that the curse gave me. The feeling of his broad shoulders and the tensed muscles in his arms, holding himself up over me, and there's love there. In his eyes I see all he's ever wanted and needed, and most of the time I feel it too. But sometimes, all I see is her dark brown eyes glaring at me, consuming me like a fire scorching my heart. I remember the scarred lip smirking at me and reminding me that there was nothing—_nothing_—good or pure about me. And I want to cry, choking on the feeling of him inside me, because it'll never be right, there will never be anything that I can touch without feeling the invisible scars that she left on my body with white teeth that used to scrape at my flesh.

Sometimes, I think that the curse she used to torment me was the only good thing she's ever done for me.

But only sometimes.

* * *

She used to whisper in my ear, telling me how beautiful I was, back when I was too young to see it as anything but a compliment. She used to say it as she undressed me, soft and cooing, as if it would be enough to calm me from the sick knowledge of how wrong this shifting of roles had become. As if it would be enough to stop my frame from shaking as her hands roamed over my chest with a practiced skill that no one should have. She knew how to subdue me, to give enough false sincerity to a child at heart, convincing me to relinquish all the good within. Because that's what the Queen does. She burrows herself inside you, so deep down inside, and then rots you out. She makes you hurt and cry, and every weakness you show, she digs her claws inside you even more.

She knew things no one should know.

* * *

She looks at me now, a smirk that fills me with sickness, an infectious darkness that contaminates every thought in my head. She's looked at me like that before, but without the memories attached to her piercing eyes and raised lip, it only left me with a feeling I couldn't place. And now is not a time when I miss the curse, because this demon of a woman would scan her eyes over my ignorance and just revel in the feeling of power she had over me. Completely and utterly. The thought of it fills me with a rage, fills me with the feeling of violation that I've endured far too long from her. I want to kill her. I came here to kill her, but she reminds me, with mild amusement, that if I had it in me to do it, I would've long ago.

Maybe after the first time.

Or the second.

Or perhaps the sixth—

I tell her to shut up.

She tells me to be nice, and calls me dear. She used to always call me that, always said that—be nice be good don't tell it's fine—And God, she's doing it again, all over again, the sickly familiar way she's stalking over to me. She's in my head again, like she never left. Like it was the easiest thing to do. I close my eyes for a moment, forcing them shut against the memories, against the realization that she knows every single thing about myself that I try to hide, and she's the only one who knows.

She knows things no one should know.

I open my eyes to her again, when I feel warm fingers wrap around my chin and grip hard at my cheeks. This woman looms over me like nothing has changed, like I'm still sixteen and Snow, and she's still the Evil Queen pinning me to her bed.

And the word beautiful slips out of her lips like a whisper, making tears sting my eyes, allowing her claws to dig in deeper.

I softly beg for her to stop, and she softly mocks for me to stop her.

Because you _wanted_ it, the reminder is hissed, with lips against my ear.

You _ached_ for me,

I could _feel_ it,

I could _taste_ it,

And _you_ let me every single time,

You would let me _inside_, and you would finish on my hand like a _whore_,

Don't tell me you didn't _love_ it, don't say it wasn't _good_—

"There's nothing good about you." I spit at her, tears streaming full of shame and anger, and she hesitates at that. Quickly though, she crashes her lips against mine. Opening my mouth with hers, and forcing herself inside me once again, just to prove she can.

To prove that there's nothing good about me either.


End file.
